


The Life and Times of CLUB Members

by NameMeAgainIveBeenLost



Series: Anam Cara [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 1940s, A little angst, Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe- A/B/O, Always in love Bucky/Steve, Attempted Drugging, Beta Peter Parker, Beta Steve Rogers, Body Dysphoria, Bottom Steve Rogers, Drag Queens, Established Relationship, Feminization, Gender Identity, Happy Ending, Healthy relationships everywhere, Insecure Steve Rogers, Internalized Homophobia, Irish Steve Rogers, Jewish Bucky Barnes, Lingerie, M/M, Nipple Play, No Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, No Endgame, Omega Steve Rogers, Omega Tony Stark, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Praise Kink, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War, Romani Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve is a bossy lil shit, Stiletto Heels, Tony Is a Good Bro, excessive Billie Holliday because Bi icon, steve rogers tits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-11 22:15:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20160961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NameMeAgainIveBeenLost/pseuds/NameMeAgainIveBeenLost
Summary: CLUB opens in secret in 1925, it's changed locations many a time, and had many patrons and employees come and go through her doors.This is the story of her Fabulous Foursome. A group of remarkable men who support and love each other against all odds.AKA it was supposed to be Steve wearing makeup and lingerie but turned into a study on gender identity and a glimpse into the boys life before the war and the friendships that shaped them. Whoops, sorry not sorryStaring Mary-Ann the drag queen, smol Steve learning her ways, and their smitten, ever supportive husbands, Freddie and Bucky.Reading part 1 is not necessary, but would give a bit of nice backstory.





	The Life and Times of CLUB Members

**Author's Note:**

> Yall, Idk what even happened here. I just wanted to see Steve trying to find out what happened to his friends post war and wearing a pair of heels while he and Bucky do the do.  
Here we are 15K words later. It's not my fault, I went and fell in love with Freddie and Mary-Ann on accident.  
Anyway, you might want to read the first part, but it's not necessary, it's just more of this weird sappy sex interspersed with flashbacks. Idk, I'm on a kick here.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: a guy tries to drug Steve with something at some point, but nothing happens, he gets caught before anything happens and summarily beat up, cause Steve Rogers.  
There's mention of the fact that being gay was a punishable offense by law and gay bars being illegal.  
The F*g word is used a few times, only once as a slur, the rest by a gay or queer person to reference themselves. There are a hand full of other slurs used as well, one referencing a person of color. Sorry, that's just the times my friend. None of it is excessive or used maliciously.  
Steve struggles a little with some internalized toxic masculinity and gender identity issues, as well as some body dysphoria. It's pretty mild though and he gets through it ok.
> 
> I'm going with the system of Marcus switching into "Mary-Ann" mode once he puts on his wig. So Marcus is referred to as both he and she, but it's the same person, just him and his drag persona.  
Links and references at the bottom.

_Mary-Ann hummed a little tune to herself as she dabbed at the bright red lipstick painted on Steve’s already naturally pink lips. Steve couldn’t help his lips quirking a little as he heard Bucky and Freddie from outside the door._

_“What’re they doin’ in there?” Buck asked curiously, Freddie, with his deep silky voice, chuckled._

_“Ah, white boy, you know how them girls are. Let ‘em have their fun.” Steve couldn’t see Bucky, but he could imagine the dreamy look that would come over his eyes when he realized Steve was getting all dolled up for him. Steve seldom did this, and if he did, it was no farther than a very light coating of mascara to darken his lashes and a bit of rouge on the apples of his cheeks. But this was a special occasion, Bucky had gotten a promotion at work and Steve desperately wanted to celebrate with him._

_As the first chords of an upbeat swinging song started at the piano, Freddie’s dark, large hands no doubt flying over the keys with a grace unfounded by his hulking frame, Mary-Ann hummed and cocked her head, smiling at Steve._

_“Why don’t you just look lovely.” Mary-Ann said with a smile on her own bright red lips, “Bucky is gonna lose his head, guaranteed, and I’m keepin’ you away from my Freddie, I tell ya’ ” Mary-Ann and Steve both giggled as she directed him to look in the mirror._

_When Steve’s eyes fell upon his reflection, he flushed in delight. His lips were glossy and bright, just like the dames in the magazines, and Mary-Ann had tastefully painted his eyes with dark kohl and black mascara, a delicate rouge adorned his cheeks and a light dusting of powder softened out his already meager stubble. He looked… pretty, dainty._

_“Aw, Mary-Ann,” Steve breathed, admiring himself from all angles. Mary-Ann giggled and sprang up from the chair at Steve’s side, her wig fluttering about her face as she swirled around the dressing room._

_“Now, I know you said not to, but I had a few things lying around…” Mary-Ann trailed off, before pulling a few items out of her chest of costumes._

_The wide-leg pants and tight fitted striped sailor-esque top, so popular with the risqué dames who heralded in new waves of fashion, had clearly been tailored for Steve’s small frame. Steve felt his heart squeeze in affection for his kind friend. After all, Mary-Ann was much, _much_ larger than Steve, it was undeniably kind of her to spend the time tailoring down her own outfits for him, even if it was her least favorite one. Mary-Ann was no simple lady within the confines of_ _“_CLUB_” (_unnamed and run in the dark by and for people like them alone_),_ _she loved to sew and used any scrap of fabric she could to create grand, fashionable gowns in every color under the sun. This outfit, with its muted white and navy color scheme, had made an appearance during her set only a handful of times, when the sailor boys came into port for a few days and the queers among them skirted off into the night to find like-minded folk, eventually landing at CLUB and places like it._

_Mary-Ann was more than delighted to help Steve into the ensemble, pinning the clothes back in places where it sagged, mainly the chest as Steve, unlike Mary Ann, felt no desire to wear a brassiere or create new, more feminine lines. The whole time she moved about him, Mary-Ann cooed about how the outfit emphasized his delicate “boyish” figure, and how much Bucky would love him in the outfit. Finally, she stood back and hummed thoughtfully._

_“How do ya’ feel about a hat, Stevie?” She asked, cocking her hip and placing a large, rough, unmanicured palm against it, tapping her chin thoughtfully with her other hand._

_“Um, if you think it’s best-“ Steve didn’t even finish before Mary-Ann squealed in delight and tottered back to her large costume chest on heels that made Steve fear for her safety. After another moment, Mary-Ann came back with a pillbox hat and a set of short, smart heels. Of all the things on Steve that were big, it was his comically oversized feet, which came in handy in this case, as he and Mary-Ann could easily share shoes._

_“Try ‘em on, darlin’,” Mary-Ann said with a smile, brandishing the white and navy Mary-jane pumps to Steve who chuckled at her delight. Strapping on the shoes felt… strange, euphoric almost, he had to take a moment to breathe deeply as he looked down at his feet._

_They looked… gentle, soft, dainty, a million things he would fight tooth and nail not to be but could indulge in while wrapped in Bucky’s arms. Never would the Alpha think less of Steve for any of this, he would only lose his breath in delight and whisper sweet words in his lovers’ ear. Steve grinned as he stood, the added few inches made him feel powerful, despite how soft he suddenly felt. He wished, for a moment, that he could dress like this every day, carry this confidence with him out into the world beyond CLUB. Maybe this feeling is why Mary-Ann enjoyed her dresses and wigs so much, it was certainly a heady one. Mary -Ann just smiled at him knowingly as he twirled a little in the mirror._

_“Comfortable enough?” she teased, and Steve flushed, smiling sheepishly._

_“I like them…” he shrugged a little, toeing at the carpet shyly._

_“That’s why we come here, darlin’,” Mary-Ann said as she directed him to sit once more so she could pin the blue flowered pillbox hat in place, “that’s why we’re all here.”_

_“Do you ever wish it didn’t just have to be here?” Steve asked, his eyes drinking in the room around him, a treasure trove of glittering jewels and pearls and brightly colored garments and wigs of every shade and length, all used to expertly transform the mexican, hard-working Alpha, Marcus Garcia, into Mary-Ann six nights a week. All undeniably confined to these walls, by law, by god, by society, all in the name of decency. Mary-Ann’s hands slowed as she pondered his question._

_“Yes and no,” she finally decided on, “what we do here… it’s only safe here, you know? When we keep it here, we’re sheltered from the storm that is the outside world. I don’t know, I think even if things were different, even if it was legal, even if we were allowed to technically exist in peace, there’d always be those that hated us, know what I’m sayin’? There’s none of that here. The real world is messy, Stevie, it’s full of politics and religion and hatred, but also love and progress and a million other amazing things. But don’t be mistaken, baby, the world out there is harsh and dirty. In here… we get to be free with no strings attached, if only for a bit. And_ _it’s not even that it’s not dangerous here, because it is, it’s real dangerous here. It’s that we got the_ illusion _of a world without danger, a safe world full of love and shamelessness, even if it’s only until the sun comes up.”_

_Steve and Mary-Ann shared a soft, sad smile as she finished and smoothed out the top stretched across Steve’s shoulders._

_“There,” she said softly, “don’t you look as pretty as a picture?”_

_And yea, he did. He didn’t look like a dame, but he shined like a star. He felt, for a moment, what Mary-Ann meant, as he stepped out into the club and caught Bucky’s eye across the dancefloor. As the Alpha gapped at him, Steve felt that sense of peace, of wholeness, of rightness that can only come from being safe and surrounded by people like you. He may not know the name of every person in CLUB_ _tonight, but he knew their story, he knew the_ _dream of freedom they all bought into while the nights reigned on and the music played._

_They swung around the dancefloor, they danced with friends and drank with strangers and the world outside stayed there for a moment. As Mary-Ann, in her rich Baritone voice began to sing, Steve knew this was home for all of them. Even if it _could_ only last until sunrise._

* * *

_He hadn’t really meant to steal the USO gal’s lipstick, honest, he didn’t. But it had been sitting there, red and screaming at him in its intensity. With a flush of shame, he’d snatched it up and tucked it away in a pocket of his horrible uniform. Every once in a while, when the nights got cold and lonely, and thoughts of home, of Mary-Ann and Freddie, and Charlie the bartender, and Bucky, god, _always _Bucky, stole over his mind…._

_He would pull the tube out and twist it up in the dim light. The color reminded him of that first, but not last, night he had finally, fully, indulged, that night Bucky had called Steve his_ pretty boy_, that night Steve had felt more at home with his friends and his lover than he had since his Ma passed. The lipstick was victory red, Mary-Ann’s favorite shade long before the color name had been coined, Marcus’s favorite color, period._

_Marcus had knitted Freddie a pair of victory red working gloves one Christmas, Freddie couldn’t stop showing them off with delight._

_Now Marcus was gone, and with him, Mary-Ann, shipped off to a world of grime and death, his beautiful jewels and soft wigs and elegant gowns left to rot who knows where, hopefully hidden from hateful eyes._

_Now Freddie was gone, separated from his lover and his treasured piano by an ocean of blood._

_And now Bucky was gone too, adrift somewhere....somewhere Steve couldn’t reach him._

_They were all out of reach now, letters with Buck came in starts and stops, there was no way to ensure he got the encoded messages of love and devotion Steve sent him. Freddie and Marcus were god knows where, a place Steve had no way of contacting them in, considering he didn’t even know their full names._

_So here Steve was, on this stupid USO tour, in this horrible new body, with nothing to remind him of home but a few sketches and a stolen tube of lipstick._

_And Steve couldn’t even bear to put the lipstick on, he couldn’t bear to bring his beautiful world into this farce of a life. Couldn’t bear to imagine how perfect he had felt when he was small and delicate, now that he was built like a fucking tank and had the grace of a crawling toddler. Instead, he just twisted the tube of lipstick up and stared at it in the dim light until the red was all he could see, until the bright splash of color, too pure to be blood, too bright to be real, engulfed his vision and he could finally find sleep._

* * *

_Steve still had the tube of lipstick, it was still tucked away in his uniform pocket, hidden safely from view. As Bucky slept, and Steve’s heat abated only for a moment, he stood in front of the mirror, staring down the tube of bright red lip paint. The edges had softened some, no doubt from melting a little after being exposed to heat, the tube wasn’t quite as bright after months spent tucked away in a uniform slowly becoming caked in blood and refuse._

_But the lipstick was as bright as ever._

_Steve breathed a great breath, trying to steel himself, trying to tell himself he could still have this. Bucky had called Steve his boy last night, that had felt good, like coming home. Bucky clearly still loved and adored Steve, even in this strange and terrible body, even though he was now so big he sometimes felt his heart rattling inside his chest, anxiety filling all the new crevice’s, leaving nowhere for Steve to hide from himself._

_But Bucky still loved him, Bucky still wanted him, and Steve still wanted this, so maybe… maybe…_

_He swiped the lipstick on, his hands shaking horribly, but as the waxy red met his lips, Mary-Ann’s voice echoed in his head. His hands took over where his mind floundered, applying the red lipstick just the way Mary-Ann had shown him all those years ago. He capped the lipstick when he was done, refusing to look himself in the mirror yet._

_When he finally looked back at himself… he sighed in relief. He_ almost _looked like himself, if he twisted his head just so… yes, there was the delicate bone structure, and there was the small dimple in his chin, and maybe if he shaved with and against the grain, he’d be smooth again…_

_“God baby look at you,” came Bucky’s sleep gruff voice from behind him. Steve spun and flushed, instinctively hiding the lipstick tube behind his back and reaching up to wipe the incriminating red off with his hand. Bucky caught his hand quickly, furrowing his brow._

_“Hey, hey, baby, what’re you doin’ that for?” he soothed, twining his fingers with Steve’s own, Steve flushed again and wouldn’t meet his eyes, self-conscious._

_“It’s... it’s just stupid now.” He muttered, shrugging. He sagged as he held out his other hand, the tube lying in his palm._

_“What is, baby?” Bucky asked, tilting Steve’s face up a little with a finger under his chin. Steve wanted to close his eyes and hide in shame._

_“Just… this,” Steve brandished the tube a little before sighing and setting it on the bathroom counter, tucking his face in his hands, “it’s just stupid, is all. I’m so… so _big_ now, ya know?” Steve chuckled self-depreciativly, “No point anymore, not really. Too big to be pretty now. God, I don’t even _look_ like an Omega.” Steve covered his face and shook his head._

_Bucky was silent for a long moment before he picked the tube back up and tilted Steve to face him. Delicately, as if Steve might break, as if he was still something that required gentleness and care, he dabbed the lipstick back over Steve’s lips, covering the patches where Steve had bitten his lips and worn away the red._

_“Does it still make you feel good?” Bucky finally asked as he slowly ran his finger along the edge, cleaning up the line of the lipstick the same way he had seen Steve do in their apartment’s bathroom mirror a hundred times._

_“Yes,” Steve answered in a small voice, flushed in shame and yearning for comfort and assurance._

_“Then there’s still plenty of point in it. And for what it’s worth, I still think you’re just as pretty as ever.” Bucky said, his eyes soft and loving, still so full of awe as he took in Steve. Steve flushed in delight and looked away, a small smile on his lips._

_“Sap,” he said, nudging Bucky’s barefoot with his own on the dim tiled floor. In retaliation, Bucky grinned and squeezed his pecs suddenly._

_“And your tits and damn near three times the size now, too, Marcus is gonna have a field day with you, baby doll.” Bucky leered, pinching Steve’s nipples and causing Steve to snort in delight and kiss Bucky on the cheek, leaving a big red lip print. Bucky just grinned and him and pulled him closer._

_“I love you, baby doll,” Bucky said, honesty painting his every line._

_“Love you too, Buck.” Steve breathed, folding into the Alpha gratefully._

* * *

So apparently what Steve wanted, what he was into, wasn’t as rare as he had once thought. It would seem that globalization had pulled many a subculture out of the woodworks and connected like-minded people all over the globe. Like the world’s largest “CLUB” for everything under the sun.

Which meant, when he went looking, there were special clothing shops where he could find the pretty things he liked so much, all cut to fit his form. It took a while, but eventually, Steve found some things to his liking. He hadn’t told Bucky that this particular interest survived their ice trip, and the Alpha hadn’t asked, because of course he didn’t. Bucky had always been comfortable and more than happy to run at Steve’s pace, when and if Steve brought it up, Bucky would go with it.

When the package arrived, Steve had found himself dizzy with anticipation. The panties, because there was no better word for them, were cut in the style of men’s boxer briefs, but made entirely of lace so soft and delicate that Steve was afraid to touch it, lest his rip it. The cropped cami was much the same, soft, sheer white lace that would wrap around him like a strapless tank top, accentuating the sweeping planes and curves of his pecs.

While Bucky was out, Steve quickly tried on the new clothes, gasping as he took himself in. Suddenly, it was 1940 and Steve was watching a drag queen pin a pillbox hat in his hair. He was soft and dainty, and he was _Stevie_ again. Steve almost couldn’t tear his eyes away from the ensemble, drinking in his own physique with relish and delight. He didn’t realize how much he had missed this side of himself until he could suddenly have it back. There was still a lot of work to do in his head, but day by day Steve slowly felt he was reclaiming himself, reestablishing his presence in his own body, shedding the Captain America façade bit by bit and revealing the Brooklyn boy underneath.

The Pretty Brooklyn Boy. _Bucky’s_ boy. Freddie and Marcus’ “_Stevie Kiddo_”.

He considered himself for a moment before deciding he needed something else, something he had before…

And apparently, there where _massive_ stores dedicated to makeup now, lipsticks in every shade imaginable, eye shadows by the thousands, and a million products in between. Makeup had become its own art form. What started as a google search for simple red lipstick lead to a two-hour deep dive into something calling “_Instagram_” and Steve gapping at people painting stories and galaxies across their faces with makeup products Steve didn’t even know existed. After realizing how ridiculously large this strange, once familiar world was, Steve found himself sighing in relief when he found a makeup company that made products he understood. He almost wept from joy that their mascara came in _tubes_ and _cakes_ instead of weird bullets that seemed messy and unhygienic.

Even after the makeup came in, Steve kept it hidden from Bucky, it’s not that he was embarrassed, not at all, it’s that this felt… private. This soft piece of Steve had been left on CLUB’s dancefloor and backrooms and in their little Brooklyn walkup 70 years ago. Finding it after so long took time, it took patience. Steve had to be careful with himself, he had to forgive himself for the days he cringed from his hidden collection and convinced himself it meant he wasn’t a “_real man_”, or worse an invert, sickened in some way by such a simple thing as a tube of lipstick. He had to relearn how to walk in heels (_he bought himself a simple black patent leather pump, and dear god, he realized with trepidation that today’s heels where so much more terrifying than any pair Mary-Ann had ever donned, these heels all looked sharp enough to kill someone, and thin enough to topple Steve and break his unbreakable bones_), and his hands had to relearn how to apply the delicate rouges and powders to his newly stubble ridden skin. Most of all, he had to relearn how to feel _pretty_ in a new body that everyone but him seemed to think was already perfection incarnate.

After a while, though, he felt confident again, he felt whole and at peace with this part of himself. And he knew Bucky would be just as supportive as he was in that little house way back in 1944.

* * *

There was nothing special about that day, no particular significance to the date or season, nothing that set this day apart as far as Steve could tell. He just returned home from the gym one day in late March, and as he was putting his shoes away in his closet, he thought “_ok, fuck it, today it is_.”

Bucky would be out for a few hours yet, working with Clint to train the new recruits. Steve had poked his head in and grinned as he saw the Alpha perched atop the tall climbing wall with Tony’s new protégé, Spiderman, a Beta boy everyone hoped was much older than he seemed but who kept his identity on such a tight lockdown there was no telling. (_Well, that’s not true, Nat or Buck could have found the boys identity in an hour tops, but they didn’t out of respect for the young man’s privacy._) Bucky was carefully explaining to the boy how to disassemble and reassemble Bucky’s sidearms. Spiderman was a non-violent fighter if ever there was one, but the boy still had the makings of an excellent marksman and warrior, Steve had no doubt that Tony saw the boy one day leading the team in his place. Steve just hoped he’d give the kid at least another decade to grow into it because he had a sneaking suspicion the kid wasn’t even _close_ to being done with grade school, let alone mature enough to help lead a team of superheros.

When he got back to he and Bucky’s apartment, Steve found himself grinning from ear to ear. Buck was always good with small things, things that were unsure of themselves and still growing into who they were meant to be, and there was no doubt Spiderman had some of that going on. As Steve tucked his trainers away and shed his top, intent on a long shower, his eyes lingered on the seamlessly hidden panel on his side of the closet. He knew Bucky’s hidden closet space was packed with weapons and alternative identities and cash stolen from Hydra accounts, the Winter Soldier in him ever prepared should he and Steve need to flee.

Steve’s on the other hand…

He pressed his palm against the panel, and it slid open silently. Inside his heels sat primly next to a small, black velvet makeup bag (_so similar to the one Mary-Ann used to own_) and his pretty things folded neatly, a delicate string of pearls he had found while “_antiquing_” with Nat curled on top. (_Honestly, he was just looking for old Billie Holliday records, there where a few songs Mary-Ann used to sing that Steve just couldn’t find on a CD anywhere. Thank god Nat introduced him to music streaming after that, it lacked the nostalgic feel, but Steve was pleased to have many of his old favorite songs back._)

Steve flushed and smiled to himself as he took in the ensemble, eventually humming thoughtfully and collecting them in his arms. Reverently, Steve spread his armful out on the bathroom counter, laying out his makeup in an ordered line, his shoes rested on the ground near the door, arranged just so. After a moment, Steve smiled to himself and turned back to shower. As he showered, he hummed old songs to himself, transported back, back, back…

_Mary-Ann in that ivory dress she favored, Freddie with hearts in his eyes and music in his hands, a smoky bar, burning liquor. And Bucky, always Bucky, grinning at him all lovesick and gone for the tiny thing Steve had once been. His tie loose and hair askew from too many drinks and swinging about the dancefloor song after song, sweat on his brow and a light in his eyes. Staring at Steve, always, always,_ always _staring at Steve, Steve with his delicately rouged cheeks and darkened lashes and red lipstick barely applied to just that side of a bright flush, Steve with his borrowed string of pearls hanging low against his collarbone, shirt unbuttoned to the point of near indecency._

Yea, Steve wanted a piece of that back, if only for tonight.

After his shower he took up his phone and fiddled with it until he found a Billie Holliday playlist, smiling to himself as he scrolled through and recognized song after song, a few that must have come out after his time dotted in between. Steve, for once, liked that, liked that reminder that life kept going on after he and Bucky froze. Art kept being made, music kept filling the world with sound and meaning, the way it used to fill Bucky, taking over his lean limbs and burst from his lips in bouts of humming and unashamed singing. Steve let the music play as he carefully shaved and moisturized his face and legs. (_“Ya gotta moisturize, Stevie kiddo, or the powder won’t set right” Mary-Ann’s ghost gently scolded from the corner of his mind_).

Putting on the makeup felt… ritualistic almost, a soothing routine of certainty that had Steve’s limbs unwinding and relaxing bit by bit, until finally, he pulled back, examining himself in the mirror. His hair had grown out just enough to push it straight back, he debated letting it grow out more and styling it the way the flapper gals had when he was a boy, but eventually dismissed the thought. He liked his hair like this, it was more modern, a little looser than the close crop of his military days, and, if Bucky could properly fist his hand in Steve’s hair, and if, _perhaps_, that thought made Steve a little breathless, well that was no one’s business but his.

Steve hummed along with the music a bit as he dabbed at his lipstick with his pinky finger, electing to apply it in the sharp cupids bow style of his day rather than the rounded, bee-stung style he saw on so many younger ladies today. Finally, he tilted his head this way and that, before deciding he was content with the simple black lined eyes and bright red lips. With reverent hands he tugged on his pretty underthings, pondering finding some more outer clothes. Androgyny seemed to be more and more in these days, Steve bet it wouldn’t be too hard to find himself a proper outfit that danced the line like his little sailor get-up did in the ’40s. Maybe he’d get a hair clip to go with it, something sparkly and understated. The thought made him flush in pleasure.

Finally, he was fully dressed, watching himself in the mirror as his large hands clasped the string of dainty pearls around his neck. He sighed in pleasure as he twisted side to side, analyzing himself. He felt good. Not weak, or humiliated, no, instead he felt _beautiful_, he felt gentle and soft, he felt like something that warranted care and tenderness, the way he did all those years ago. And the confidence, the overwhelming confidence that this kind of beauty gave him had yet to fade, even after 70 years.

He spared a thought for Freddie and Marcus as he slipped on his heels. He spared a wish that perhaps, _maybe_, they both lived. And perhaps, god, maybe… _maybe_, they found each other again. Wishful thinking, but far stranger things had certainly happened.

His heels clicked against the floor as he stepped out of the bathroom, poking his head about to ensure no one was back yet. He felt pretty confident in his heels now, as he stepped out and walked into the kitchen, Mary-Ann would have been proud.

“FRIDAY,” Steve said as he wrapped the simple white cotton apron Bucky used for baking around himself, tying it off to protect his pretty underthings.

“Yes, Captain Rogers?” FRIDAY responded.

“Lock the rooms down please, no one but Bucky and myself in an out for a while,” Steve said distractedly, tugging down a handwritten cookbook from atop the fridge. Once Steve had moved into the apartment in DC, he had marched straight into the Smithsonian and demanded some of his personal effects back, a weathered box with recipes his mother brought over from the old world and collected from their neighbors not least among them. With painstaking care, Steve had hand-copied all the recipes down in a new cookbook before storing the originals away to preserve the last lingering proof of his mother’s existence. Smiling to himself, Steve picked a stew his Ma made that Bucky had always been fond of, and an old Romani cake recipe Winnifred Barnes had made every Passover.

“Certainly, Captain Rogers,” FRIDAY said primly, her Irish brogue still causing a bittersweet ache every once in a while.

Steve scuttled around the kitchen cheerfully as he waited for Bucky to return home. He had an image, suddenly, of a life perhaps gone by. A what may have been. Because, maybe, if Steve had stayed home, stayed small and delicate, perhaps, maybe, this would have been their life. Steve, always too ill to work a laboring job like Bucky, would have stayed home, maybe making a few commissions from his art. And maybe, if Steve had stayed home, tucked away and treasured, he would have worn pretty things more often, would have cooked dinner for Bucky and smeared red lipstick across the Alpha’s skin while they rolled in their bed in the dark. Maybe Steve would have been the fairy everyone always thought he was, dainty and more than happy to play housewife for Bucky. A precious jewel tucked away for Bucky’s eyes only.

Of course, Steve almost immediately dismissed the idea with a wry grin. He’d have gone looking for a fight after three days, returning home with a stubborn jaw and split lip. Steve knew himself; such a life wouldn’t have lasted for long, neither of them was made for it. Bucky, as much as he enjoyed this feminine side of Steve, adored the little spitfire who couldn’t back down from a fight. Bucky loved his little stupid punk, loved the soldier, the Irish bastard, the artist, the stubborn mule, the bossy wild thing Steve was in his natural state. Because, simply, _wonderfully_, Bucky Barnes loved Steve Rogers, and everything he was made of, with an undying, death-defying passion.

Steve found himself unable to stop grinning as he swung around the kitchen, making supper with a lightness in his step. After a while, the stew was done, and the cake cooling. He always felt like something was missing from the stew, a flavor left somewhere in the past, but he and Bucky had yet to figure out what it was. Regardless, it still tasted like home. Cold winter nights giggling with a much, _much_ younger Bucky. Tucking in under Steve’s covers, whispering and talking till the late hours, huddled together for warmth. Sometimes reading pulp mags by moonlight, sometimes just whispering nose to nose as the frigid night wore on. God, they had been so young, so naive. What a beautiful life they lived.

“Stevie, sweet heart?” Buck called distractedly as he walked in, already unstrapping his tac vest and pulling off his gloves, not yet looking across their open-concept apartment towards the kitchen where Steve stood in plain view, turning the heat off on the stew.

“I’m here,” Steve said, rounding the kitchen island so Bucky would see all of him, propping himself with his lower back against the kitchen island, crossing his legs and his arms across his chest, looking totally relaxed. Bucky looked up, down, then up again quickly, his mouth dropping open a little, eyes dragging up and down Steve’s body, an almost physical weight.

“Oh,” he finally breathed, straightening. Steve flushed and grinned, straightening only long enough to untie and tug off the apron, draping it across the counter, before resting back on his palms and crossing his legs again. He stretched a little, taking a deep breath and pushing his chest out teasingly, showing off all the lines of himself. Bucky choked out an “_oh_” again, sounding strangled.

“Good?” Steve asked teasingly. Bucky just blinked stupidly.

“Baby,” he finally breathed out, taking a hesitant step forward, then another, then another. Until he stood before Steve. Bucky cupped Steve’s sides, dragging his palms up to cup Steve’s pecs through the lacy top. Steve shivered as Bucky’s thumbs gently swiped over the delicate skin of his nipples.

“D- D’ya like it?” Steve asked breathlessly, arching his chest into Bucky’s hands. When Bucky met his eyes, Steve could swear they were a little misty.

“You’re just as pretty now as ever, baby doll.” The Alpha said, cupping Steve’s face and kissing him sweetly. The heels gave Steve an even bigger height advantage, so he found himself dipping down to kiss Bucky, tangling one hand in the Alphas hair, breathing a sigh of relief against his lips. They kissed and kissed and kissed until they were both breathless, Steve’s red lipstick was smeared across Bucky’s lips.

“Will supper keep?” Bucky asked, depression habits of scrapping for every morsel never broken, even in the face of this new century where excess wasn’t just the name of the game, it _was_ the game.

“Yea, ‘s Ma’s stew.” Bucky’s face softened into something light.

“Aw, baby, what’d I ever do to deserve you?” he asked quietly, running his hand through Steve’s hair, cradling the Omegas face reverently. Steve smiled and leaned into him for a just a moment, luxuriating in the feel of the man before him.

"Made your Ma's cake too." Steve said, grinning. Buck sighed dramatically, placing a hand over his heart, fluttering his eyes, making Steve choke on a peal of laughter before they both laid their faces together, forehead to forehead, nose to nose. Just luxuriating in the moment, Bucky's hands still running up and down his sides.

“Buck?” He whispered after a moment, fluttering his eyes lashed open in a way that made Bucky’s breath catch imperceptibly.

“Yea, Stevie?”

“Dance with me?” Steve asked, snagging the remote lying on the counter behind him and turning up the sound on his playlist. Bucky’s face lit up and he grinned like a little kid as Billie crooned through the speakers.

_Ooh, what a little_  
_Moonlight can do_  
_Wait a while_  
_Till a little moonbeam_  
_Comes peepin' through_

“Aw, Baby, haven’t heard this since…”

“Mary-Ann, yea.” Steve grinned as Bucky tugged him into his arms.

They swayed around the kitchen gently, both of them near bursting. It felt like 1938 all over again, swinging on that dance floor, desire building until they escaped home and fell on their bed between kisses and breathless giggles. It felt like 1940, Steve in his little sailor outfit, being swayed on the dancefloor, Bucky gaping at him in awe. It felt like 1942, holding each other tightly and fighting tears, because Bucky got his draft letter, and soon he’d get another tellin’ him to report for duty. It felt like 1944, shuffling in the tiny kitchen in that house in France between Steve’s bouts of heat, the wireless scratchy and coming in and out weakly, strange French music cooing at them.

It felt like 2018 and swinging around their kitchen, slowly finding their way into their living room, Bucky twirling Steve when the music picked up. Both of them throwing their heads back and laughing as Steve’s heels clicked against the hardwood floors, Bucky’s rough hands dragging along Steve’s skin, across the lace, calluses catching at the delicate fabric, tugging softly.

“What brought this on?” Bucky asked as they swayed, Bucky tucking his head against Steve’s chest, Steve laying his cheek on top Bucky’s head in turn.

“I dunno, just… missed it one day, you know?” Bucky hummed in agreement, “I’ve actually had it a while. I got the clothes first, you know they make this stuff for guys now? Remember how Marcus used to have to make it himself, tailor all of it for his shoulders and hips? Anyway, then, um, I got the makeup, found a company that recreates vintage stuff from our day, things Mary-Ann would have used. Then the shoes and the necklace and, yea…” Steve trailed off with a shrug. “I didn’t really know how you’d react, didn’t even know if you’d remember,” Steve admitted quietly. Bucky nuzzled against him for a moment, before kissing Steve’s chest and pulling back a little.

“I remember, baby,” he said, smiling a little, “it’s hazy but… I remember CLUB, I remember you and Mary-Ann locking yourselves up in her room, I remember drinkin’ with Freddie and dancing with you. I remember a lot of it, most of it I reckon. And yea, I remember this,” Bucky squeezed him close, indicating their dancing, “and this.” He said softly, reaching up a hand to cup Steve’s face, running his thumb across Steve’s cheek, then just barely touching the corner of his red mouth. “You’re so beautiful, my pretty boy.” Bucky purred and Steve’s gasped, surprised that Bucky remembered. He grinned foolishly, suddenly all blood gone from his brain to his dick. Bucky raised a brow in surprise as Steve swayed closer, his erection bumping Bucky’s hip.

Steve flushed, and tugged Bucky in by his hair, kissing him harshly, until Bucky groaned. Through it all, Bucky’s hands stayed gentle, careful. Like Steve would break if he pushed too hard. And, fuck, ok, _that_ did it for Steve. He started shoving Bucky back and back into their bedroom, slick suddenly finding its way down his thighs.

“Fuck,” he cursed sharply, taking a deep breath before they finally found themselves in the bedroom. Roughly he shoved Bucky down on the bed, crawling atop his thighs, grinding against the Alpha for a moment.

“Stevie, baby” Bucky breathed out, clumsy hands fumbling with his outfit. Steve, just as desperate, tried to remember not to rip the clothing off his Alpha, but god he _wanted_ to. Finally, Bucky was bare before Steve, and Steve pounced, biting and licking and laving at Bucky’s neck and chest.

“Steve,” Bucky gasped, arching as Steve raked his nails down Bucky’s sides hard enough to leave red marks. Bucky groaned, snagging Steve by the hair and dragging him back up, biting and nipping at Steve’s lips, laving the hurt away with kisses and a gentle hand on his back. This game was familiar, Steve pushing and pushing and _pushing_, and Bucky never giving. Bucky staying soft and gentle and tender despite Steve clawing and biting every inch of him he could reach.

While Steve was distracted, Bucky managed to flip them over, pinning Steve down with a firm grasp on his wrists.

“Fuck,” Steve gasped, eyes wide and wild. Bucky tutted playfully.

“Not very proper language for my pretty boy.” Steve flushed and bucked his hips, not really trying to get away, just testing Bucky’s give. Of course, there was none, Buck just snorted at him in amusement and sat down heavier. Bucky leaned over him seriously, his hair a dark curtain blocking them from the outside world.

“If I let you go,” Bucky asked, “will you be a good boy and stay like this?” He squeezed Steve’s wrists on either side of the Omegas head. Steve thought hard for a moment, weighing his options and how he wanted this night to end. In the end, he nodded hesitantly, sliding his hands up to grasp the slates in their headboard. Bucky smiled at him softly, releasing his grip and dragging his hands down Steve’s arms, down his sides, fingering the waistband of his panties.

“You’re so good for me, my pretty, beautiful doll,” Bucky cooed, dipping his head to bite and mouth at Steve’s nipples through his lacy top.

Steve gasped, arching his chest into Bucky, after the serum his chest had become almost unbearably sensitive. There was a time, out there on the battlefield, between blood and grime, that Bucky had shoved Steve into a tree and pushed his shirt up. Bucky had been wild, still bloodthirsty and ruthless, and he attacked Steve’s chest with abandon, until Steve was a slick, whimpering, whining mess against the tree, until… Steve had suddenly arched and come with a cry, shocking both of them as he had still been tucked in his pants, untouched but for Bucky kneading and mouthing at his pecs and nipples.

This was gentler than that, sucking replaced teething, Bucky’s short beard scrapped Steve’s sensitive skin raw until Bucky kissed it away gently. This was heaven, after another few moments of toying with Steve to the point that the Omega was having trouble regulating his grip on their headboard, trying desperately not to break it, Bucky tugged his cami top to the sides so that his pecs and nipples were on display. Steve flushed and shivered as Bucky’s fingers trailed gently over his chest again.

“God, baby doll, look how pretty you are,” Bucky breathed, laying a soft kiss on Steve’s right pec, “your pretty shoes and pretty panties and pretty tits, you’re all for me, ain’t you baby doll?” Buck looked up at Steve, his eyes dark and half-lidded, hips occasionally rutting against Steve’s thigh. Steve found himself unable to speak, just nodded helplessly. Bucky smirked at him and cradled his chest once more, biting gently and sucking at Steve’s nipple causing Steve to whimper quietly, slick making his panties stick to the backs of his thighs.

“Buck, please” he choked out, finally cracking. Because _that_ was this game, they pushed in their own way, Steve with teeth and nails, Bucky with gentle words and fluttering hands, they pushed and pushed and pushed until someone broke.

That someone was nearly always Steve.

Bucky smirked at him in victory and moved down Steve’s body, taking the time to kiss and nip at smooth skin as he went before he began mouthing at Steve through the panties. Steve squeezed his eyes shut at the wet, wonderful heat, his neck gone taunt as he tried not to move, not to buck up into his Alphas mouth. Luckily, Bucky didn’t torment him for long, finally peeling the panties down Steve’s legs, leaving his heels intact.

“Fuck, baby, God I wish you could see yourself.” Bucky choked from his place between Steve’s spread legs. One hand ran up and down Steve’s smooth legs, kisses and nips laid upon the calves, as the other held Steve open the tiniest bit, allowing Bucky to watch his leaking hole flutter around nothing.

“You’re so good for me, darlin', so good for me.” Bucky hoisted Steve’s legs over his shoulders, laying himself flat against the bed and hauling Steve’s thighs up so he could lick and suck at Steve’s hole. Steve cried out in shock, heels scratching uselessly against Bucky’s back as he scrambled for purchase he wouldn’t find. All Steve could do was pant and cry out in ecstasy as Bucky ate him out, fingers joining his tongue inside Steve’s body. Steve could hear the metal of their headboard creak ominously as he whimpered and writhed beneath his lover.

Eventually, without his knowledge, he lapsed into begging. Finally, Bucky pulled back.

“Ok baby, I got you, I’ve got you,” his voice was dark and rough, his breath coming in pants and gasps as he got onto his knees. He positioned himself over Steve and gently wrapped long legs around his waist. “I got you baby doll, _always_, ok?” he said, running a hand through Steve’s hair before burying himself in Steve and leaning over him. Steve gasped, he was plenty wet, but Bucky had skipped fingering him and _god_, it was perfect. Tight, a little friction a little twinge of something too sweet to be discomfort racing down his spine.

Bucky fucked into him nice and slow, thrusts carefully timed and measured to rub incessantly against Steve’s prostate without hammering into him. The tenderness, the soft hands cradling any part of Steve they could reach, all conspired to leave Steve with tears in his eyes. Bucky whispered sweet nothings in his ear and moved with smooth thrusts, his entire body wrapping around Steve, engulfing the Omega. And it was, it was…

_It was 1936 and their first time, Bucky rode Steve with a gentleness Steve recognized from when Bucky was cleaning him up after a fight, or talking him down from an asthma attack._

_It was 1938 and Bucky was taking half an hour to open Steve up for him, teasing until Steve is crying in pleasure and desire._

_It was 1940 and Bucky was whispering about how pretty Steve was for him as Steve blushes, fluttering his mascara darkened lashes._

It was 2018 and they were at home and safer than they’d ever been, and Steve felt small again in the best way. He felt engulfed and protected in a way he hadn’t since Bucky got his draft letter, in a way he’d been trying to recreate since he stepped out the VitaRay and started that first horrible heat. It was like being wrapped in a nest and held by a mother and a million other wonderful things that meant _home_ and _love_ and _safety_.

He didn’t realize it, but he started crying at the overwhelming emotions, his mascara running in dark streaks. Bucky, god bless him, knew exactly what was going on, and pulled Steve tighter, his thrusts picking up just a bit.

“I know baby, I know, me too,” he gasped, one hand coming down to grip Steve’s erection, causing the Omega to whine and arch.

“_Buck_!” he called, the only word he was capable of.

“Oh god, fuck, baby,” Bucky ground out, fucking Steve just that much harder, bullying Steve’s prostate until… until…

Steve practically screamed, hands coming down to clutch Bucky’s shoulders instinctively as he came in heavy waves across his pretty lacy top. Bucky cursed and dug his teeth into Steve’s bond bite, reopening the wound and causing Steve to cry out and orgasm again, nearly dry this time, before Bucky himself groaned and relaxed as his knot expanded and he came inside of Steve.

Steve practically purred, warm inside, warm outside as Bucky collapsed and pulled the blankets over them.

Yea, this felt like home.

* * *

Steve hesitated before stepping foot in Tony’s lab, heavy rock music thrummed despite the soundproofing, indicating that the man himself was, definitely, in. Steve had debated this for a while, he tried to find out what had happened with his own resources, but it was damn near impossible.

The thing was, in clubs like the one he and Bucky frequented, last names were rare. He only had Marcus’ first and middle name, assuming that was his real name, and no name for Freddie except a nickname. It was always safer if they didn’t fully know each other, safer if their dalliances stayed locked away, safer if they couldn’t rat each other out, no matter how bad they were hurt or threatened. So, in the end, Steve was forced to turn to Tony to find out what had happened to the two men, and the rest of CLUB for that matter. But Steve hesitated, some part of him still cringed at Tony knowing this about him, despite all that the smaller Omega had done for him, despite that Tony, and the rest of the Avengers for that matter, had proven themselves time and again.

Heaving a breath, Steve knocked on the door. The music stopped, a moment later the door slid open, revealing Tony and Spiderman, now wearing civvie clothes (_some stupid graphic tee with a chemistry joke that Steve barely understood and only reaffirmed the kids youth_) and his mask, bent over a table, talking seriously about something Steve didn’t even try to identify.

“What’s up, Cap?” Tony called, beckoning him over.

“Hey, Cap, sir,” Spiderman said brightly, waving a little. Steve smiled at him a bit.

“Hey kid, Tony.” He stopped by the table, looking down at what appeared to be the remains of a frog, where it came from, he didn’t want to know. “Is this a bad time?” he asked curiously, leaning away from the table a little.

“Hmm?” Tony asked, distracted, before he finally looked up at Steve, “oh, no, just helping the kid with a project.”

“For college,” the kid cut in quickly, “my college, I mean, c-college class. Which I’m in, as a student. A _college_ student.” Spiderman said, tripping and stumbling over himself awkwardly, as usual. Steve gave him a disbelieving look and a raised brow.

“Sure thing, kid.” He said, with a small smile. He couldn’t see the kids face, but he could swear the boy was blushing. “Ah, actually, Tony, I needed to talk to you. It’s not serious or anything, just needed a favor.” Steve shrugged a little. Tony eyed him for a moment before nodding.

“Hey kid, can you give us a minute? Go grab a snack or something,” how the kid could eat after poking at whatever was on the table, Steve didn’t want to know.

“Sure thing Mr. Stark.” The boy said, chipper as ever, as he tripped his way out the door, cursing quietly when he accidentally stubbed his toe on Dum-E V12 on his way out. After the kid was safely out of earshot, Steve turned back to Tony.

“What’s up, Cap?” Tony asked, stripping off his gloves, “trouble in paradise? Want me to rig Buck-o’s arm to shoot glitter back at him every time he annoys you?” Tony wagged his brows playfully, causing Steve to snort.

“Maybe, I’ll think about that one next time we get into an argument. But no, I’m… looking for some old friend.” Steve shifted uncomfortably and Tony analyzed him for a moment before speaking.

“How old we talkin’ here?”

“Uh, Pre-war old. And I don’t have much to go one. I know they’re gone by now, but I just wanted to know what happened to them. You know, after…” Steve shrugged a little, Tony nodded in understanding.

“I can probably do that. How much info you got on ‘em?” Steve smiled sheepishly, flushing a little.

“Not much, we, Buck and I, I mean, knew them from… uh, a club.”

Tony furrowed his brow. “Like a dance hall or whatever you old folks called it?”

Steve flushed brighter and shook his head. “Not… exactly.”

Tony raised a brow. “Don’t be coy, Rogers or I can’t help you.”

Steve huffed and rubbed the back of his neck, “A club for queers, Tony.” Tony’s brows both rose.

“Why Rogers, _you_, breaking the _law_, who’d a thought?” Tony smiled at him assuringly, clapping a palm against the side of Steve’s neck, scenting him lightly. Steve smiled at the affection and returned the gesture before Tony backed up, shoving lightly at his shoulder.

“Give me everything you got, kid, I’ll find ‘em for you.”

“Thank you, Tony,” Steve said with relief, “I owe you a huge one.”

“Watch it Rogers, or I’ll make you actually start showing up to my parties in return,” Steve’s face twisted in slight panic, causing Tony to break into laughter and shoo him away.

* * *

A few days later, Tony knocked on Steve’s door right after he’d gotten out of a shower and before he’d had a chance to start on dinner. Steve greeted the man with the customary pack hug, scent glands touching just enough to scent mark the other, before clapping Tony on the back and inviting him in. Tony plopped himself on a stool at the kitchen island as Steve started pulling out ingredients to make dinner.

“So, good news or bad news, kid?” Tony asked, slapping a manila folder on the kitchen island. Steve froze for a moment.

“Good news.” He finally said.

“I found out what happened to the club, so originally named CLUB, and your friends. Bad news, not such a happy history, I’m sorry to say.”

Steve gave Tony a wry smile, “Tony, it wasn’t a happy story for _any_ of us back then.” Tony seemed taken aback by this before his face looked a little pained and he nodded sharply.

“Ok, well, CLUB was raided in 1945, bad news for the patrons, good news for us.” Steve gave him a confused look, “All their files were seized,” Tony explained ad Steve gave an “_ah_” of understanding and continued prepping the meal. “Anyway, raided by assholes in ‘45, luckily it was a slow night, one bouncer, Barney Teller, one bartender, a Charlotte Greenwood, and one piano player, Jacob Miles, were arrested along with five patrons.”

“You got the names of those patrons?” Steve cut in.

“Indeed, I do, Margret Freedman, Michael Hodges, John Spencer, Lillian Rubio, and Grant DeRemer.”

“God, Grant,” Steve scoffed, “came in drunk every night, always trying to rub his scent all over me, even after Buck nearly ripped his arms off. He knew damn well I was taken, too!” Steve rolled his eyes. “I don’t know the rest of them. But I liked Charlie, any idea how long she was in?”

Tony roved his eyes over something on his glasses, probably reading a report, “No… but it looks like she got off easy, she was married it seems, her husband was in the war. Looks like she said she was forced to work there to make ends meet, real sob story.” Steve smiled a little.

“That’s utter bullshit, by the way, Charlie had been there since the prohibition. Her husband was a queer too, Charlie had a dame, Darcy, and her husband had a fella. They had a kid together to keep the image up. I remember how pissed she was those few months; she was so annoyed at being pregnant.”

Tony snorted in amusement, "Bet the drinks came out extra strong. Well,anyway, after CLUB was raided, it was, naturally, shut down. However, I did have someone go do some digging for me. Turns out they had some banking information on your friends. You got lucky, kid, report says Charlie tried to burn everything when the police came in.

We found two names that matched your friends. A Marcus Garcia Lopez and Daniel Fredrick Hughes, or “_Freddie_” to his friends. Both men were apparently deployed at the time, fighting the good fight.” Steve nodded seriously.

“You shoulda’ seen Freddie when he got his letter, Tony. He was spittin’ mad, kept goin’ on and on about how the government didn’t give a damn about Negros like him, or fags either,” Tony flinched at the words and Steve flushed, remembering how people didn’t say things like that anymore, which was good, but a hard habit to break.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, “anyway, he kept on about how it wasn’t fair. He was right, of course, it _wasn’t_ fair. He couldn’t be with Marcus the way he wanted to or work any good jobs or anything. But I think he was more scared than anything, you know? And that was the only way he knew how to express it. He and Buck got their letter the same week and drank each other under the table that night. Marcus and I just let them, we were both so sad about it. Then Marcus got his letter a month later and Freddie was even angrier. He broke two glasses throwin’ ‘em at the walls after closing, that was the only time I ever saw him cry.”

Steve felt tears prick at his eyes at the memory. He’d never seen anyone so afraid and it was twice as scary because Freddie was just so… _large_. Fred was always larger than life, a man made entirely of muscle, a Ferdinand the Bull if Steve ever saw one. Fred was kind and funny and always gentle with Marcus, Fred was… _invincible_, he radiated joy even on the worst of days. To see a man that good and that strong tearing apart at the seams had been terrifying and painful to watch. That day he had broken down after the bar was closed, shirt askew, drink and emotion blurring his normally warm eyes. He ranted and raved about the injustice of the world and about the pitfalls of society, a man truly ahead of his time. The whole time Steve sat there, he wished he could take their place in the war, wished he could absolve them of this horrid burden just as much as he wanted to absolve Bucky of it.

Tony broke him out of his musing, “well, good news there. They both lived through the war.” Steve looked up in surprise.

“Really?” he breathed, clutching the counter at the wave of relief that washed over him.

“Yea, well, not in one piece. Hughes lost his left arm in an explosion and was sent home early,” Steve felt his heart break at that, Freddie had loved playing music, he had been a shining light as he sat at his piano, sweat pouring down his temples as his euphoric face turned skyward, praising with every cell as he made music for lovers to swing to and strangers to fall in love by. The idea of him losing such an integral part of himself was horrific in Steve’s eyes.

“Oh, Fred.” Steve finally said, his face etched with heartache, he shook his head a moment later. “What about after? Did Marcus and Freddie find each other again?” Tony’s eyes lit up.

“As a matter of fact, yes. Marcus got home after the war ended, soon after they rented out an apartment together. They proceeded to move… wow, 13 times over the next 35 odd years, before settling down in one place.” Steve nodded.

“That was safest, it didn’t do to stay in one place living together for too long. Buck and I were able to stay in one place so long because we’d been friends since we were kids, and everyone knew how sick I was. Made it seem like we were brothers taking care of each other. Plus, we were still young enough that it was acceptable for us to be bachelors, and Buck made sure to get us out in the public eye on plenty of dates.

But for two fully grown men… people would have started to ask questions after a while. They probably got away with moving so little cause they were both vets, everyone knew it was good for the vets to be together, you made packs over there with your fellow soldiers. It was good to stay together when you got home until you could be reintegrated to society.” Tony’s face looked a little pained but he nodded in understanding after a moment.

“Well, that’s, depressing as fuck… but, uh, looks like Hughes died in ‘93, he was 84. Gonzales followed three years later in ‘96, he was 85 at the time. Both went peacefully in their sleep, never married, no kids, obviously. But Freddie did have a niece named Eleanor that he seemed to be close to. She’s 63 now, lives in Manhattan. According to Gonzales and Hughes’ will, she got all their earthly belongings when they passed. She may have some stuff if you want to go see her.” Tony shrugged, nudging the file towards Steve. Steve accepted the file after wiping his hand on a kitchen towel and shoving the potatoes he was chopping aside, then opened it. Inside was a copy of Freddie and Marcus’ last will and testament, how Tony got that, Steve didn’t ask. Indeed, both men had left all earthly possessions and assets to Freddie’s niece. Steve wondered if it was Fred’s brother or sisters’ kid. Probably his sister, Steve thought, Freddie had always got on with his little sister better than his older brother. Eleanor Terrel lived in a nice neighborhood in Manhattan, in a comfortably sized flat with her husband, now 70 years old, and two cats. Steve looked up to Tony with a grateful smile.

“Thank you, Tony,” Tony waved him off, but Steve pressed on, “no, really, thank you. I always wondered what happened to them. I’m glad to know they had each other when everything was said and done. So, thank you, you’re a good man and a great packmate.” Steve clapped Tony on the shoulder before smiling again and moving away, clearing his throat and chasing away the tears that pricked at his eyes. “Now, Buck is supposed to be back in half an hour, you wanna stay for dinner?”

Tony gave him a soft smile, his own eyes a little misty, “I’d love to, Steve.”

* * *

“Stevie, you sure about this baby?” Bucky asked for the hundredth time as he eyed Steve’s nervously jiggling leg on the subway. Steve sheepishly stilled himself before nodding resolutely.

“I’m sure, Buck. If they left everything to her, they must have trusted her. She _had_ to have known.” Bucky was eyeing him thoughtfully.

“And if she knew and got their things, she had to have been at least a bit accepting.” Buck finished for him, and Steve nodded before snagging his Alphas hand tightly as the train came to a stop. Steve kept hold of Bucky’s hand and they exited the station, referencing the address on their phones before walking on.

“I wonder if she’s got any of Mary-Ann’s clothes. They’d probably fit you now.” Buck teased and Steve flushed, snorting lightly.

“Buck, they’d be too _small_ on me now.” Buck leered at him playfully.

“_Yea_ they would, baby doll.” That startled a laugh out of Steve who flushed and shoved Bucky’s shoulder, without letting go of his hand.

“You’re such a jerk.”

“Look who’s talking, punk.” Bucky snipped with a grin.

As they walked, they playfully bantered and shoved each other back and forth. Steve would have to thank Bucky later because the effortless back and forth kept his nerves at bay. He didn’t know why he was so nervous, perhaps it was the conjunction of past and present lying in the hands of a stranger. Maybe it was seeing the proof that all he had left was Buck, everyone and everything else he ever loved having long gone, even his little impromptu almost pack from CLUB having lived a full life without them.

Far too soon, they found themselves at the intercom for Eleanor's building. Steve looked at Bucky nervously for a moment before ringing the doorbell. It took a moment, but a women’s voice eventually spoke.

“_Hello?_” Steve froze up, his throat closing and eyes going wide, he felt like he was 14 and having an allergic reaction again. After a second Bucky elbowed him in the side hard enough to get him going.

“Hi, uh hello, Mrs. Terrel. Uh, I’m, my name is Steve Rogers, you don’t know me but-“

“_Did you say Steve Rogers?_” she cut him off, sounding excited, “_Oh! Oh _finally_, I told Joey you’d come, I did, I knew it, oh I’m all in a tizzy. Get up here, son._” And the intercom clicked off, right before the door buzzed open. Bucky and Steve looked at each other in confusion before Steve shrugged and motioned him through the door.

The Beta woman who opened the door bore little resemblance to her dead uncle, save the same dark skin and wide, black eyes. The small wrinkled woman burst into a wide smile.

“I was wondering if you’d ever show up.” She said, “thought you might not, not with how things were. But then you two went off and…” She motioned between Bucky and Steve meaningfully before flashing her eyes to Steve’s bond bite, making both men flush. That seemed to change gears in her mind, and she started.

“Oh dear, where are my manners? I’m sorry, you got me all excited, come in, come in.” she ushered them in warmly, leading them to a sitting room where a Beta man, who may have once resembled Sam with his gap-tooth and “_pin cushion_” head (_according to Bucky. Not Steve, Steve actually thought the flying Alpha was rather attractive_). He stood shakily as Bucky and Steve entered.

“Joseph Terrel, pleasure to meet you.” He said, extending his hand to Steve.

“Steve Rogers, it's a pleasure to meet you too, sir, sorry to burst in on you like this,” Steve said sheepishly. The man’s hands, perhaps once strong, now were aged and thinning like the rest of the man, including his hair.

“Bucky Barnes.” Buck greeted, taking the man’s hand. Joseph motioned to the couch with a withered hand, sitting carefully as they could hear Eleanor rattling about in the kitchen.

“You’ll have to excuse my wife. We don’t get visitors often, our two babies, Ayisha and Marc are out in California you see. And, frankly,” Joseph chuckled, “we’ve been debating whether you’d come or not since you woke up.”

“What made you think we’d come?” Steve asked. Joseph chuckled again.

“Oh, you should have _heard_ the way Marc and Fred talked about you two. They had a whole little bookshelf set up full of pictures and the comics, I think they even had the Bucky bear.” Bucky flushed at the mention of his teddy bear (_which he secretly adored_). “They went on and on about you two, about what good kids you were, how much Mr. Barnes there loved to dance.” Joseph grinned at Bucky, “Fred once told me he’d never seen a white boy move with such soul.” Buck flushed in pride and leaned into Steve a bit.

“Having a good partner always helped. And Freddie was the best damn musician I ever had the pleasure of hearing play.” Joseph smiled a bit sadly.

“I wish I’d been able to hear him. He never was able to play after, well…” Joseph motioned to his own left arm. Steve could see the pain in Bucky’s face at that. (_He’d cried a little when Steve told him about Freddie losing his arm. “He deserved this” he’d said, brandishing his own prosthetic arm, “way more than I ever did. God, Stevie, he had a gift and they took it from him.”_)

Just then Eleanor entered with two cups of coffee which she presented to Steve and Bucky before asking if they took sugar or cream. Bucky asked for some sugar and Steve was glad to take his black. As Eleanor turned to go grab the sugar from the kitchen, Joseph playful called.

“Where’s my damn coffee, woman?”

“Up your ass unless you know what’s good for you, boy,” Eleanor called back, Joseph breaking into a wide dopey grin, madly in love despite the decades of history between them. Steve grinned into his own mug when Eleanor returned with a mug of coffee in one hand and a bowl of sugar in the other. She reached to hand it to Joseph, who extended a hand to take it, before she pulled it back with a playful giggle and took a sip of it herself, gently sitting herself in Josephs lap, just for a moment. She placed a kiss on Joseph’s cheek, before standing carefully and setting the cup at Joseph’s elbow.

“Thank you, my love,” Joseph said sincerely. Eleanor gently slapped his shoulder and sat at the armchair beside him.

“So,” she said, fidgeting with her skirts, “the famous, or perhaps infamous Bucky and Steve. My uncles talked about you two none stop when I was a girl.”

Steve flushed and rubbed the back of his head, “Geez, I can’t believe Freddie and Marcus got into the whole Captain America schtick, especially Freddie, that was definitely _not_ his style.”

Eleanor’s eyes twinkled with mischief, “oh no, Captain Rogers, you misunderstand. They followed your exploits, but they would only talk about a small boy with a big mouth and his” Eleanor cleared her throat and wagged her eyebrows “_friend_ who would dance till his feet fell off.”

Steve and Bucky exchanged a look. “How much do you know, exactly?” Bucky finally asked. Eleanor smiled at them knowingly.

“Uncle Marcus taught me to do my makeup and hair. He and Uncle Freddie lived together for decades, even though they were both Alphas. I don’t know the whole story, of course, but I can guess at things. And my Uncle Marc’s big secret chest certainly filled in the rest after he passed.” Steve’s brows went up.

“You’ve got Mary-Ann’s chest?” he asked, hope bleeding into his voice.

“Is that what Uncle Marc called himself?” Eleanor asked, leaning forward. Suddenly, Steve saw something familiar in her, a hunger for another piece of two men she loved dearly. Something unwound in Steve and he smiled back.

“Yea. She sang and Freddie played piano. Sometimes they had a trumpet player, a fella named George, but he died in Pearl harbor. Mary-Ann loved Billie Holliday, she’d lay all over the piano while she sang, real dramatic like, ya know? Or dance, she sewed these beautiful, just _elegant_ gowns that showed off her shoulders and waist, real risqué at the time, but pretty tame by today’s standards. She would practice new makeup looks in the mirror for _hours_. I’d sit with her before the night opened while she brushed out her wigs or shaved so her face was smooth. She always wished she had a day job where she could keep her nails pretty. She was always tryin’ to teach me how to dance in her heels, but they were so high, and I had such bad balance back then. I’d just end up fallin’ all over her, laughing like a couple of kids till our ribs ached.” Steve looked to Bucky meaningfully, after a moment of consideration he added to Steve’s story.

“Freddie could drink me under the table, easy. We’d sit and talk and drink and smoke while those two got ready for the night. He talked about his piano like it was a lover, and he… he got this _face_ when he played, man. If I ever saw a face that knew god, it was his. It was euphoria and joy, he just always radiated joy. He was warm and funny, he was solid, ya know? Always real honest. I remember once Stevie and I got in an argument over the rent, Freddie was real frank with me, told me I couldn’t treat Steve like a glass trinket, no matter how good my intentions where. And he’d know, Fred never had anything but good intentions. Freddie had two great loves, his music, and Marcus. That face he got when he played, the real euphoric one, like he was talkin’ to the almighty, it’s the same way he looked at Marcus. He kinda got this soft dopey look on his face whenever he saw Marcus all dolled up, like he couldn’t believe something so perfect would dare exist in real life.”

Eleanor was teared up by the end, Joseph handed her a tissue with a soft smile.

“Uncle Freddie never played again,” Eleanor said, “but instead he started singin’. When I was little and stayed the night with them, I’d crawl out of bed real late at night and they’d be dancing in the living room, Uncle Freddie would be singing to Uncle Marc and they were always smiling. I knew it wasn’t normal though, ya know? I knew not to talk about it to anyone, even then. I knew they’d get in trouble for being men and being Alphas.”

“Can we-“ Steve started, before swallowing nervously, “I mean, do you have any of their things that maybe we could… look at?” Eleanor smiled at him sweetly and stood, beckoning them deeper into the flat. In a room that had the generic feel of a guest room, Eleanor opened the walk-in closet. It was bare, nearly the entire floor taken up by a massive, intimately familiar chest.

“Go ahead, feel free to take anything you find,” Eleanor said, waving to the chest.

“Oh, no, Mrs. Terrel we can’t possibly-“ Steve started, Eleanor raised a hand to stop him.

“This still ain’t something people want to talk about, Captain Rogers, and my Uncles don’t deserve to sit in a closet and rot. Besides, I’m no spring chicken, I want these things to be taken care of, all the better if it's by someone who knows the stories behind all of it. So, take it, take anything and everything, put it to use, remember them for me.” Eleanor patted Steve’s face sweetly, doing the same to Bucky as she passed them before the bedroom door snapped shut.

The chest was so much lighter than Steve remembered, though that was probably his super strength talking. He remembered clearly that the chest had, at one point, taken both Freddie and Marcus, or sometimes Bucky, to move from place to place. As Steve picked it up easily and set it down in the open, he sank to his knees before the large leather chest, reverently touching the buckles. The leather, while protected from the elements, hadn’t been properly cared for. The leather stretched across the majority of the case was drying out and in desperate need of a good oiling. The straps, on the other hand, needed to be replaced completely, the leather had cracked and flaked in many places, worn and weakened by decades of use. Steve smiled as he ran his hand over the top of the case, before tugging open the straps. He looked to Bucky who was sitting on his knees at the Omegas side, smiling at him understandingly.

“Well, go on.” Bucky encouraged, nodding at the case. Steve grinned and flipped the case open.

Inside was neatly organized, the scent of old leather and wood and mothballs still clinging. The deep inset part of the chest was filled with feathers and gowns, a large wooden tray with a multitude of jewelry and stockings and gloves sat on the top. Primly, three sets of heels lay cushioned in the fabric that made up Mary-Ann’s dresses. There, on the wooden tray, was a black velvet drawstring pouch, Steve picked it up, chuckling as he pulled it open. Inside was a multitude of dried out and emptied makeup product jars and tubes. Steve pulled Mary-Ann’s tube of victory red out, turning the bullet over in his hand, tears stinging at his eyes.

“God,” Buck breathed, reaching out and extracting her woven silver platformed heels, Mary-Ann’s favorite of her modest collection. “It’s like she never left.” Buck finally said, running his fingers across the straps.

“I know,” Steve said, sniffling as he pulled out the wooden tray, gentle fingers dusting over Mary-Ann’s pearls. He remembered these, remembered that Freddie had saved for almost a year and a half to get this simple string of real pearls. He remembered Mary-Ann practically beaming with wonder every time she put them on. (_“He’s a swell fella, Stevie. He treats me like a queen, loves me like crazy. I love that boy of mine; I swear I do.”_

_“He loves you too, Mary-Ann, you should see his face when you ain’t lookin’. I never seen anything like it.” Mary-Ann smiles at him slyly as he reclines on the chair beside her, watching her fiddle with her hair before her first set._

_ “I have, Stevie. I’ve seen that look. It’s the same one Bucky wears when your smiling, or dancin’ or, damn kid, just _breathing_, not that you do that very well, mind.”_

_Steve flushes in delight, ducking his head to grin, “Well hell, don’t you feel bad for all the dames out there? Us couple of queers went and snapped up the best two fellas before they even had a shot.” Mary-Ann throws her head back, laughing with delight._)

“Oh, wow, Steve look,” Buck says. Steve looks back in the chest and his eyebrows go up.

“No way!” he says, standing and pulling the gown with him. As he stands the silky, flowing ivory gown unfolds until he can hold it out to its full length. Buck barks out a laugh.

“Look here, Stevie!” He says, lifting the edge of the gown, Steve looks down and laughs as well. There, on the edge, is still a stain from his blood. (_It’s 1939 and Steve is drunk, very,_ very _drunk, even though he shouldn’t be with his medications._ _He’s flopped over the bar, laughing uproariously at something Mary-Ann has just said, she’s smiling at him fondly, giggling daintily into her own glass. Suddenly, there’s a large presence behind him._

_“Hey there, sweetheart.” The man, a newcomer, says as he leans on the bar next to him, winking at Steve. Steve just stares for a moment before nodding in greeting._

_“Hey pal,” he slurs, lifting his drink in salute before downing it, turning away and intent on dismissing the man. But the guy keeps talking to Steve, not getting the hint. He keeps trying to lay a hand on Steve’s shoulder or rub against the small Betas scent glands with his grimy hands, even though Steve shrugs him off, and it’s annoying Steve a little, but Steve tries to be polite about the whole thing. Though really, he’d rather this guy buzz off so he can go back to being drunk as hell with Mary-Ann, even though he knows he’ll regret it in the morning. But then as this strange Alpha is still chatting incessantly, Steve trying not to roll his eyes, Mary-Ann’s ivory gloved hand suddenly darts out, grabbing the man’s hand as it’s moving back, rather discreetly, from Steve’s drink, which is now fizzing slightly._

_“What the fuck was that?” the soft notes of Mary-Ann are dropped for Marcus’ dirty Brooklyn accent, a snarl in place. Steve blearily looks between the drink and the guy who’s stumbling over his words and trying to pull his hand from Marcus’ tight grip._

_“What the fuck?” Steve slurs, sobriety finding him in his anger. “Did you just put something in my fucking drink?” he says, disbelieving and annoyed. The man flushes and manages to pull back, giving Steve a sticky sweet smile._

_“Now really darlin’, it’s just something to loosen you up a little, you’re just so tiny, ya know sweetheart, a fella would have to be real gentle with a lil’ one like you,” the man aims for charming, ending up leering for all that effort. Steve suddenly snarls, hand rearing back and throwing a punch. The guy grunts in pain and cradles his face, his nose bleeding profusely. He staggers back for a moment before his eyes clear._

_“What the fuck, you little pillow bitin’ fag, fuck you!” he pulls his fist back, striking Steve so hard he falls back into Mary-Ann, groaning as his vision goes blurry with pain._

_After that it’s chaos, Bucky, who had been dancing with Charlie’s girl, Darcy, rushes over, mad as a bat out of hell, and the music cuts off abruptly as Freddie joins him. There’s a scuffle of fists and yelling then, Marcus maybe throws a few punches, ripping his pretty ivory gloves, Bucky goes home with bruised knuckles, and Steve gets blood on Mary-Ann’s silky gown. She laughs and continues to wear it anyway because, “I want people to remember that you might look like an easy target, but you can defend yourself just fine, Stevie kiddo.”_)

“Oh man, I remember that,” Steve says, flushing at the memory, Buck grins up at him.

“You’ve always been too pretty for your own good.” He coos from his place on the ground, squeezing Steve’s ankle, even when Steve playfully nudges him with his foot.

“Shut up, you,” Steve says, flushed in delight regardless.

They continue through the chest after that, a bright red wiggle numbed that Mary-Ann wore on special occasions unfolds before them, a smart pair of simple black dress heels, a teetering pair of white ones that had faded with age, a black gown that sat perilously low on Mary-Ann, showing off nipples and chest after just a few moments of dancing (_it was always Freddie’s favorite, everyone could tell that clearly. He couldn’t keep his hands to himself when Mary-Ann wore it_), and a plethora of scrap fabrics and patterns.

Steve was a little sad to see that the collection didn’t seem to have been expanded much after the war, save a few new bits of jewelry.

“Holy shit,” Steve blurted out when he reached the bottom of the trunk.

“What?” Buck asked, looking over from where he was examining a pair of Mary-Ann’s gloves.

At the bottom of the chest, under wigs which had lost their shape and now sat in sad, tangled piles, was a familiar outfit, a familiar pair of shoes, a familiar hat. With a shaking hand, Steve pulled out his little floral pillbox hat. It seemed so much smaller now that he was so much bigger. Bucky eyed it silently for a moment, before taking it from his hands and gently setting it atop Steve’s head.

“Pretty,” he said, with that little half-smile of his, the one he couldn’t seem to shake from the months of evolving from The Asset back into Bucky Barnes. It was a secret half thing, a little unsure, and used to be a sign Bucky wasn't sure if he was allowed to be smiling at something. It made Steve smile regardless, in thanks he leaned over and laid a kiss on Bucky’s cheek, the Alpha almost purred and leaned into it happily.

Steve fiddled with the shoes after that, like the rest of Mary-Ann’s leather belongings, they were drying and threatening to crack, no longer soft and supple. Steve just twisted the white and navy shoe side to side, not daring to try it on, though it probably still fit, if only so he wouldn’t crack the nearly 100-year-old leather. Bucky, on the other hand, was pulling out the top.

“Oh my god,” he scoffed, before devolving into laughter.

“What?” Steve asked, looking up before flushing and groaning in embarrassment. The top in Bucky’s hands wasn’t just small, it was _minuscule_. Steve covered his face, shaking his head.

“Jesus, baby,” Bucky broke into giggles all over again as he shoved at Steve’s hands, making him sit up straight, and held it against Steve’s chest. It was nearly half the size of current Steve, save the waist, which stayed nearly the same. The shirt was so short that it would have been a crop top on him now.

“God, I was so small,” Steve shook his head, tugging at the top to analyze it, “how the hell did you not accidentally crush me in our sleep, I’m the size of an ant!”

“Very carefully, Stevie, very, _very_ carefully my love,” Bucky replied in mock seriousness until Steve snorted again and rolled his eyes.

They laughed as they decided what to take home, Mary-Ann’s pearls were set aside to show to Eleanor as they technically counted as a family heirloom (_she sent them home with it regardless, saying “you two know the story, I don’t, he’d have wanted you to have it.”_), Steve’s old outfit was taken, along with the pillbox hat and shoes, Mary-ann’s ivory gown, her favorite shoes, and her little velvet makeup bag all came with them. They discussed taking the chest itself or perhaps helping Eleanor donate everything to the LGBT museum they supported so that it could all be properly cared for. As they went to close the chest, they both jolted a little as a hidden compartment at the top fell open.

Dozens of pictures tumbled out, they gapped as history folded out in black and white for their eyes. Bucky immediately picked up a pile flipping through them. They were mainly pictures of Mary-Ann, or Marcus, no doubt taken by Freddie. The large man had loved photography, one Christmas before the war, Marcus had gotten Freddie a camera. Freddie often took it to work with him and photographed everything, but his favorite subject was Marcus, without a doubt.

The pile Bucky picked up was almost all Marcus, Marcus with a wig cap on, applying makeup, readying to be Mary-Ann for the night, Marcus with his head thrown back and a drink in hand, stubble dark on his caramel skin. Marcus in his work clothes, passed out on what must be their couch, Marcus posing at a windowsill in Sundays best, looking pensive. Marcus sprawled in bed, shirtless and asleep, Marcus holding a dark-skinned baby (_perhaps Eleanor? Buck set that aside for her to see_) and smiling at the camera. Steve was flicking through his own pile and Bucky leaned over his shoulder to see.

“They continue after the war,” Buck said, tapping a photo Steve had landed on. Marcus had his arms wrapped around Freddie’s waist, Freddie, one-armed and smiling, held the camera up in the mirror, both of them looked so full of life is made Steve want to cry in relief.

“They look happy.” Steve voiced, clearing his throat. He could feel Bucky smiling at him.

“Most of us didn’t get a happy ending, but if anyone deserved it, it was them.” He said finally.

They set that one aside for Eleanor to have, it felt right, somehow, to leave her these post-war memories. After all, _these_ were the men Eleanor had loved, and he and Buck had never got to meet.

They continued to flick through pictures, separating out moments from CLUB, pictures taken on the dancefloor, from the piano, in the back room. Moments where Marcus met Mary-Ann in black and white, grainy echoes of laughter and delight that Steve could swear he still heard all these decades later. These photos they would take home.

After they had gone through all the photos that spilled out, they tugged down the false top a bit to see if they’d missed any. As it happened, they did. Carefully, as not to tear the edges, Steve teased it out, cocking his head at the writing on the back. None of the other photos had any writing on them.

It said: “_Had to catch the fabulous foursome in the act. _

_Happy Christmas fellas, love Charlie XOXO_”

Steve shuffled closer to Bucky as he flipped the photo over. He could hear both of their breaths catching.

It was… like looking into a mirror, but also into the past. Bucky, Steve, Freddie, and Mary-Ann were sitting at a round top table, all of them laughing with drinks in their hands. Steve was wearing his nice khaki pants, the ones Mary-Ann had tailored to fit him a little more like ladies’ trousers, and the tight white and navy top that Mary-Ann had sewn for him. He could just make out that his lashes were darkened, and he knew that his cheeks would have been lightly rouged, his lipstick bright and smeared from one too many drinks and kisses. He had a glass of something in one hand, the other thrown over his mouth to stifle his giggle, his eyes squeezed shut in laughter. He was perched in Bucky’s lap, one of Bucky’s arms wrapped around his waist.

And Bucky, oh god, _Bucky_… he was laughing with his mouth open, eyes crinkled in delight, a bottle in one hand. He looked like he always did after getting off the dancefloor, his short hair was askew, his skin shined with sweat, his jacket rumpled and tie undone, top two buttons popped open. He looked unbearably young, so sweet and innocent it made Steve’s heart twist. There was a heaviness there, of course there was, you could see it in the way Bucky held Steve so tight, trying to protect him, _always_ trying to protect, you could see it in the bags under his eyes, barely visible in the shades of grey, and the way the elbows of his jacket where just a little more worn out than a wealthy boys would have been.

Or maybe you couldn’t see it, maybe Steve just knew these things, maybe he could see the heaviness hiding behind Bucky because he knew _Bucky_. He knew that Bucky had gotten up at nearly 3am the morning of this photo and gone into work, he knew because Steve had gotten up with him to make him a cup of coffee while Bucky shaved and dressed, he also knew Bucky hadn’t gotten home till after 9 that night. Bone tired, dragging his feet, but still eager to meander on down to CLUB and spin around the dancefloor. Bucky was just like that, he loved to dance, he liked his drink, he adored his friends, and he’d move heaven and hell for Steve alone.

Across the table from them sat Mary-Ann and Freddie, Mary-Ann was facing the photographer, but her eyes were locked on Freddie. She was sitting behind the table between her and presumably Charlie, or whoever wielded the camera. She was wearing her red wiggle dress, dainty black gloves on her large hands (_she usually tried to wear gloves to cover her work-roughened hands_) and something to drink on the table in front of her. She was draped over Freddie, her hands folded under her cheek atop his shoulder as she stared up at him adoringly while grinning. The edge of her blonde wig was just that side askew, revealing dark curly locks underneath that Marcus could never seem to tame, no matter what he put in his hair. Freddie was clearly the central focus of the whole thing. In his left hand was a glass of scotch, Steve knew it was scotch because that’s what Fred always drank after his set, and in his right a cigarette. His suit was loosened, just like Bucky’s, bowtie undone and top few buttons popped, his carefully sculpted and waved hair falling into a more natural tight curl. He was gesturing with his right hand and cigarette, mouth open animatedly. Steve wished he could remember the story Freddie was telling.

They didn’t look pure and unjaded or anything so romantic, but they looked _happy_ and content, at home in that club, surrounded by a community of like-folks. Fellow queers and queens and coloreds allowed to just exist and be accepted in a space they carved out for themselves. It was beautiful.

* * *

Mary-Ann’s things found a place in one of their guest rooms, carefully treated and preserved, hidden from the sun and the elements to preserve it a bit longer. Soon enough, Steve’s pretty things joined them, and his collection began to grow.

Panties, some rather androgynous outfits he'd wear about the house, heels, and more heels (_and more heels, turned out he loved them_) all found a home in what Steve came to think of as "_the_" closet. Eventually, ever the artist, Steve began to branch into makeup more and more until he could spend hours in front of a mirror, creating elaborate sparkling designs that left him practically purring in pleasure. Bucky loved it, of course, cooed about how Steve was his beautiful, pretty boy, about how perfect Steve was.

And every day, there, from a shaded corner of the room, behind thick glass to preserve it, Mary-Ann and Freddie, and Bucky and Steve all laughed around a table from a hundred years gone by. Steve would look on and feel his heart clench joyously in the knowledge that all their combined misery would one day be overshadowed by love and sheer dumb luck, something they all seemed to find in spades.

**Author's Note:**

> So normally I hate when authors post every little thing they referenced to write a story, but my friend says I ought to add a few of them here anyway, so (shrug) here you go I guess?
> 
> The makeup company Steve uses, along with a picture of "Victory Red", America's wartime go to, yes it's a real color and a real thing. The company makes some awesome products btw.  
makeup: https://besamecosmetics.com/collections/lipstick/products/1941-victory-red-lipstick
> 
> Steves "Navy" outfit:  
Shoes: https://www.amazon.com/Chase-Chloe-Womens-Round-Pumps/dp/B0741DC9WD?ref_=fsclp_pl_dp_2
> 
> outfit: https://images.app.goo.gl/44sBCs4ktJfsuXyV7
> 
> Hat: https://images.app.goo.gl/vWTPEX5DyUJ4XcQGA
> 
> Steves Lingerie:
> 
> Shoes: https://www.shoecup.com/collections/drag-queen-shoes/products/pleaser-seduce-420-black-patent-classic-pumps
> 
> Top: https://www.etsy.com/listing/648144378/white-lace-lingerie-sissy-lingerie-drag?ga_order=most_relevant&ga_search_type=all&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_search_query=mens+lingerie&ref=sr_gallery-4-38&pro=1&col=1
> 
> bottoms: https://www.etsy.com/listing/703502000/panties-for-men-mens-underwear-mens?ga_order=most_relevant&ga_search_type=all&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_search_query=mens+lingerie&ref=sr_gallery-1-20&frs=1
> 
> Mary-Ann's fav dress and heels:
> 
> Heels: https://www.etsy.com/listing/563202507/gorgeous-vintage-1940s-bridal-silver?gpla=1&gao=1&&utm_source=google&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=shopping_us_ts1-a-shoes-womens_shoes-pumps&utm_custom1=f54fbf05-9b0f-415e-828d-0fa8725e8c90&utm_content=go_1844177708_72423884351_346363909392_pla-353574270682_c__563202507&gclid=CjwKCAjwyqTqBRAyEiwA8K_4O-Zc2CkR_sxKFb7FNR3-707ZcjKGIH4cbDDNaItnkvDR88geKJa2vRoCDqYQAvD_BwE
> 
> Dress: https://images.app.goo.gl/CfEXJJo7rWeDKXhp9 (the blue dress, but in ivory)


End file.
